flushing out the killers
by girlwithastory
Summary: Teenagers are dying in bad drug deals. Starsky & Hutch are determined to bring the dealer to justice but as they try to climb out of the toilet bowl someone keeps flushing.. my first story. posted again as rewritten. please R&R no profit & don't own 'em
1. Chapter 1

Flushing out the killers

Starsky leaned his head back a bit more over the headrest; his feet sprawled over the dash, a yawn escaping as he turned his head to address his almost asleep partner, who so far hadn't replied to several invitations to continue his trivia of the day quiz. Undeterred by the silence and closed eyes, he continued speaking: "I told you that you wouldn't guess" his sapphire eyes flashing with triumph.

"That's five bucks you owe me. Hey," he clicked his fingers, "d'ya wanna pay up now or just make it an even 10 'cos I've got a better one...huh?" the question was accompanied by a hopeful raise of his eyebrows and a slight lift of his tone. But Hutch's eyes remained closed but that didn't deter his ever exuberant partner. "C'mon? Double or nuthin? Cum on Hutch can ya guess what film had the first flushing toilet huh?"

Finally, Hutch opened his eyes but only to roll them. "It's not the end of the shift yet buddy. I don't owe you squat and anyway, what kind of weirdo knows the answer to that?"

Starsky opened his mouth to reply but Hutch didn't give him a chance. Smiling to himself at the brunette's upside down indigent expression, he carried on while he had a chance "And the house is right in front Starsk…. You're watchin'. I'm resting. And if you check a dictionary you will find that resting doesn't include a discussion of toilet trivia.

"And buddy, if you are so bored that you gotta talk toilets, you should try actually watchin'. If you check a dictionary you will see that watching is when you turn your eyes away from my good looks and towards the people we are.. well.. watching." With that he folded his arms and shut his eyes, tuning out Starksy's enthusiastic description of the first appearance of a toilet on TV.

He re-opened them momentarily, just long enough to point out that, with three hours left to go, Starsky had forfeited his bet by telling Hutch that the first ever toilet on TV was on the pilot episode of to _Leave it to Beaver_. He shut them again a faint smile crossing his lips at the background sound of Starsky whining about his welshing on the one sided bet. Minutes later he was asleep, the soft griping of his partner, a soothing background as it had been on so many stakeouts before.

He needed the rest. It had been three long days. The pair had been dragged out of bed on Monday at 3am by a double homicide. The dead, one stabbed, one shot through the eye, had been teenagers killed in what appeared to be another bad drugs deal. Neither had been hardened addicts. Both of them were in a good school. It was the third drug related murder involving a stabbing and a teen in recent months. And one of the kids was the son of a well known local businessman; his dad was friends with a friend of the Mayor. Dobey had put them on it even before the Mayor had demanded it.

Three long hard days of painstaking old fashioned police work had followed that first call and led them to the neighbourhood where they were now on stakeout. They systematically questioned all of the dead kids' teachers, parents and friends. They tracked down the links between all the kids and cross referenced the places they went and the people they knew. They mapped all the connections. They quickly eliminated as suspects most of those they talked to or who had crossed paths with all the dead youngsters.

By that Thursday afternoon they were sure that the man they were now staking out was a prime suspect. The gut instinct they shared was telling them both that he was using the house they were now watching at 1am, to store and distribute the junk. But they didn't have enough evidence for a bust. Francis Deloitte, a janitor at the gym the kids had all used, had no prior record. It was only the pattern of his contact with each of the murdered teens and his evasive manner when they spoke to him that made the detectives sure he was involved.

It was the kind of boring, but thorough, work that made them Dobey's best team as they put together the pattern of Deloitte's contacts with every one of the teens and chased down a pattern of well hidden purchases that a man on his wages could not afford.

The other part of the secret to their success as Metros finest, their friend and bar owner Huggy Bear Brown, had not yet turned up anything on Deloitte. But with four kids now dead , and a good description of the suspected dealer to put out there, he was confident that the street would turn something up soon. Someone stabbing and shooting kids just to rip them off during a deal was just too far outside the informal code of decency on the streets.

Dobey for his part had no hesitation in authorising a stake out based on a hunch from his boys. They had suggested it to him earlier that long day. But he could only spare one other unit at such short notice. Watch and report, he had insisted. No private parties. He had repeated it several times looking meaningfully at the curly headed half of the pair. "Got it Starsky? No private parties!"

So here they were 15 hours after they'd began that day's work, slouched into a boring blue sedan. Both of them exhausted. Starsky chattering on about his latest trivia discovery: everything Hutch had never wanted to know and certainly was afraid to ask, about toilets.

Just minutes after his eyes had shut and finally stayed shut through his partners' chuntering, and not withstanding that Starsky snagged it at the first squawk and spoke low in an effort not to disturb him, the radio woke Hutch.

He had been sleeping the one ear open sleep of a cop on duty. He came fully alert at hearing Hank from Zebra 8 report that their prime suspect was on his way from the right cross section with another, unidentified but tall and stocky dark haired man.

Both detectives immediately slid low into their seats. Given that Deloitte had met them when they went to the gym to speak to employees and again when they had gone back to sweat him a little that morning, they needed to see, but avoid being seen at all costs. To be seen would blow the whole stakeout and make sure that Deloitte knew he was prime suspect.

There had been some debate about which car to use during the meeting that afternoon. Deloitte was no sloppy amateur. He kept a low profile. Nothing trashy or flashy. He used a unremarkable house in a solid respectable working class neighbourhood. They had all agreed that the stake out needed to be clean and low key when they talked in Dobey's office. Surrounded by the files and the pictures of the young bodies, the argument over the car had been a moment of light relief. Folk round there have too much pride to drive a wreck like yours Starsky had insisted. Folk round there have too much class to drive a parade float like yours Hutch had countered.

It went that way, the insults masking the tension and exhaustion of the recent days, until Dobey, tired of ping-ponging his head back and forth to follow the escalating banter, had finally intervened and insisted they take a dull blue sedan from the pool. With a wry smile he had informed them over laughs from everyone else and loud splutters and protests from both detectives that Hutch's car was a little scruffy for the neighbourhood and Starsky's way too flashy. The wry smile changed to a wide grin when his gruff "go on get out of here" had seen the detectives, arms slung over each others' shoulders, sulk out moaning about the lack of class of the pool cars.

Dobey's afterthought of, "and don't slam the door Starsky," came just a beat behind the bang as the curly haired detective snagged his foot around the door still listing the details of the crimes against taste of the car pool administrators.

One of the things Starsky had griped about was the difficulty in reaching the pool cars badly placed radio quickly. And he had griped with good reason. The radio squawked loudly into life just as Deloitte and the goon accompanying him passed their car—the night dispatcher blaring through a patch from Huggy. Starsky groped for it, silencing it within seconds but not before some noise, out of place in a dark car on that street. Hutch, his eyes on the suspect, noted that Deloitte seemed to hesitate for half a beat, but gave no real sign of hearing anything. He didn't stop, didn't look in the car and didn't drop a step.

Both detectives let out a long slow breath in perfect unison as the two drug dealers moved naturally on and through the front door.

A moment later Zebra 8 sent warning of two more men approaching, one of them was carrying a gym bag. This was likely to be a delivery. Five minutes passed and no one else arrived. There were four men inside now, the second two having let themselves in with a key. The lights at the front were not burning—no flashlight beams either. Whatever was going down was going down at the back.

Starsky's head was twisted back again, dark blue eyes meeting lighter ones for a second or two "I'll check the back, you call it in" his mouth said. His eyes transmitted the other, partner to partner message, _'don't_ _worry, I'll be careful. No private party that you aint invited to buddy...' _ Then he turned back in his seat, opening the door quietly and carefully. Before Hutch could speak he had slid out and was making his way to the back of the house.

…..

Starsky hated this part, the leaving Hutch in the car and heading into the dark alone. Neither of them able to watch the other's back. He made his way slowly and carefully. His gun was in his left hand. He kept low, feeling Hutch's eyes on his back all the way to the corner.

Without being able to see him, Starsky knew that the moment he turned out of sight Hutch had slid into the front and snagged the radio and was now quietly calling in the possibility of a major delivery going ahead.

Moving gracefully in his sneakered feet didn't make a sound as he crouched below the lit window at the back of the house. In his head he was silently counting down the two minutes before he had to be back in his partner's sight. It was one rule that even Starsky never bent or broke. Two minutes the maximum time out of contact. If they had been in one of their cars he'd have snagged a hand-held radio but he just couldn't fiddle with the glove box in the pool model fast or quietly enough for his liking. So, without a hand-held, he knew that two minutes couldn't be stretched and was counting down the seconds in the back of his mind, even as he concentrated entirely on surveillance.

He popped his head up risking a quick glance through the window. The room was empty. He moved carefully and silently, towards the door. But just seconds later as he heard the tiny creak of the window he'd just looked through being opened, he swung rapidly back around, pressing his back to the wall. He didn't even breathe as he pressed back against the wall. In the gloom he couldn't be sure but he thought it was Deloitte's head that popped out of the window. 60 seconds gone… 65 til Hutch, gun in hand, came hurtling around that corner if he didn't return.

That it was indeed Deloitte was confirmed when a calm and conversational voice he immediately recognised spoke directly to him. "Detective is that you? I thought I heard someone sneaking around. Whatever is the matter that you are here at this time and around the back, not ringing the door bell?" There was just a hint of amusement in the tone.

Starsky kept his back to the wall, his eyes on Deloitte and his senses attuned to the back door from where danger might come at any second. 59 his background clock counted. He was aware that Deloitte was trying to distract him. 58. He couldn't see the door, but his alert senses heard the faintest groan when it swung open so he swung and pointed his gun towards the door. He saw no one, but knew someone must be there somewhere in the shadows.

So that was two suspects accounted for and two whose whereabouts were unknown. 56 seconds. He tamped down the panicked fear that the missing two were heading to the front door and towards Hutch, who wouldn't be thinking about that but might be distracted thinkin about his partner's safety at the back of the house.

"Don't move" he commanded loudly... sounding bold and unconcerned and very loud. 55 ... Hutch probably hadn't left the car early and wouldn't hear his shout, but if he had, he didn't want him rounding that corner blind. At 54 seconds, while he was still trying to fix the position of whoever had opened that door and simultaneously wondering how he'd give himself away, he caught the smallest swish of displaced air. That and the jolt to his upper left arm gave him the necessary information to compute the flake's position to his left.

It took a moment to understand that his trigger finger was squeezing only air, that the thing hitting his foot was his gun and that the warm, slick wetness running down his arm and coating his fingers was blood. His blood.

He was confused. There was no pain. And he hadn't heard a gun, or felt the impact of a bullet. Why was he bleeding? He wanted to ask Hutch but he knew he was counting backwards and that had something to do with Hutch. He knew that was important but his confused mind couldn't quite remember why even as he chanted 34….33….

When he next registered coherent thought over the countdown, his mind was telling him that he needed to warn Hutch. His mouth began working on a warning but he couldn't hear if he was shouting it above the rush of blood in his ears as he struggled to stay upright.

His right hand searched his left arm for the source of the blood. When his searching hand brushed against something hard and wooden, he gasped loudly and slumped back against the wall as a fire shot through his arm and shoulder. His mind was a little behind his right hand... _'Knife ... A knife... damn circus freak who ever heard of throwing a knife? Oh Stupid Davey Boy... stupid. You should have been prepared for a knife.'_ His thoughts drifted.. 10 seconds. He knew he had to move. He had to go.. somewhere. His mind struggled with where. Oh yes. He needed to go back to Hutch.

He told his legs to move but they weren't listening so well. He tried again. His vision greying and wavy. Trembling hard, he forced his legs to move but slumped forward instead of walking. He was willing Hutch to be careful and trying to work out where the knife thrower had gone… damn that's three unaccounted for now he was thinking as he hit the wet, warm paving stones. '_sfunny Hutch.. 'snot raining and its cold. How'd the pavement get wet and warm?_

His mind stayed in cop mode even as his vision faded in and out and he began to shiver, He registered that he'd landed with his left leg partly on his gun and that Deloitte hadn't moved and he worried that Hutch would be distracted by seeing him down when he came round the corner and would be in danger from attack by anyone creeping from the front or back door.

…..

Hutch hated this part. Being separated from Starsky in the dark and with four flakes they couldn't anticipate easily in the house. But he'd been so overprotective after the poisoning that he knew it had grown real old for Starsky so he was determined to wait and let his partner work without his mother-henning and he did not give in to his instinct to follow right away.

A minute in to the wait, he found his hand on the door handle, beginning to open it. He told himself it was reasonable given that he was too far away to hear or see anything, but he knew what Starsky would feel about that and so he reluctantly let his hand drop. His mind automatically counted down even as he consciously focussed it elsewhere on watching the front of the house. He told back up to approach without lights or sirens and to hold just along the street for a further signal from the detectives. He advised Hank in Zebra 8 that Starsk had gone to check the back and he was watching the front but about to go back and check on his partner.

Secure in the knowledge that back up was on the way but wouldn't rush in and prematurely ruin a bust, he slid from the car in a crouch and moved swiftly to the corner where exactly two minutes before he had seen Starsky turn for a quick grin and slight nod.

If time had seemed to drag for those two minutes, it now moved at a frenetic pace in a kaleidoscope of movement and noise that assaulted his senses. He was momentarily confused when on turning the corner; he registered Deliotte at the window and the outline he knew to be his partner slumped on the floor between the window and back door. He quickly squashed his initial panic. He trained his gun on Deloitte and moving towards the open back door and the obvious threat of danger there, his eyes moving rapidly searching the dark area around the door. He did all of that on auto-pilot, all the while, his mind half on the frightening image of Starsky down and silent. He shouted for Starsky while he kept his focus on Deloitte. It was standard operating procedure in such circumstances, needing to hear that his partner was conscious and if not okay, at least not slipping into a coma or worse while he secured the area.

In reply he registered a gasp (Starsk), a grunt of satisfaction (Deloitte?) and the unexpected roar of Starksy's gun. The body tumbling backwards so close behind him was a shock as he hadn't noticed anyone creep up from the direction of the front door behind him, but his gun never wavered and his voice remained icy calm as he demanded Deloitte surrender.

The flake that Starsky had shot was beyond handcuffing, a long knife fallen from his limp hand. Hutch secured the knife, still addressing his partner without looking back at him, his voice now loud and urgent, edged with panic as Starsky still hadn't replied to him but was moaning softly: "Starsk! Starsky how you doing?" He called it again louder this time and adding a demanding, "Answer me!" as he moved towards Deloitte. His partners' reply was a muttering so incoherent that only his long and deep knowledge of Starsky and the situation they were in could explain why he understood the brunette's warning that two more men remained unaccounted for.

He could hear the weakness and confusion in Starsky's mumbling voice and he registered the sound of the gun again hitting the pavement, but he couldn't take his eyes from Deloitte long enough to turn and look. "How bad Starsk?" he asked back over his shoulder his voice calm and gentle, "You shot buddy? Huh? Where you get hit buddy?" But his tone was hard and aggressive to Deloitte, "If you move, I will shoot and the only target here is your head—meaning I will be shooting to kill. You understand me Deloitte?"

Hutch knew the backup would be there, but hanging back, obeying his order not to approach without his say so. He cursed that order and wondered how long before Zebra 8 would intervene. He guessed from the lack of shooting at him that the other two men were busy flushing away the evidence, but he had no urge to secure the scene, knowing that Starsky's incoherence and lack of humour could only mean he was badly hurt.

He risked a quick glance at his partner who had slumped to the ground breathing hard as he approached Deloitte, sharply demanding that the man stretch out both hands through the window. It took only seconds to cuff Deloitte to the frame. His mind registered, but tucked away for later, the curious lack of fear or concern in Deloitte at his arrest. He couldn't hold the thought as his mind was already with Starsky as he crossed the distance between them at speed, dropping to his knees beside his downed buddy. He felt a wave of nausea that he swallowed down when he registered the warm wet pavement and realised he had landed in a pool of his partner's blood.

"Easy, easy now" he murmured, lifting his buddy's head gently from the floor where he had sprawled. He spoke softly, reassuring and examining for injury even as he lifted Starsky to sit up against the wall and slipped off his jacket to make a pillow to rest behind his head. He muttered comforting nonsense to his partner all the while as he picked up his gun and clicked on the safety.

Starsky groaned with pain, his mouth moving a little before forming the right words "knife... niffe Hussh…" "Yes buddy I can see" He gently pushed back Starsky's right hand that was again moving towards the wound. "NO Starsk you can't touch that.." he spoke sharply in panic and then gentled his voice, "It's stuck in your arm. Just let it be". He was gentle as he felt around the area but the strangled groan and jerk backwards of his partner told him just how bad the pain was. Nonetheless Starsky tried to banter, "Stuck huh? No shit Ssssherlock… You... you... 'tective... maybe shoulda been a detective." Hutch chuckled faintly to show his appreciation of the old joke Starsky had struggled so hard to make.

He quickly assessed the damage, keeping an eye and ear out for danger all the while. Starsky had lost so much blood. Damn backup where is it he wondered as he rapidly tore a strip off his shirt to make a tourniquet. "Easy Starsk. Just rest now," he soothed as his partner hissing in a breath of pain drew away from his touch. "I need to stop you bleeding."

But Starsky was fading out now, muttering to Hutch that it hurt, blood loss and pain taking a toll. His head lolled to one side his voice faded to a waver thin trembling whisper. "No...NO Starsky stay with me. Don't go anywhere huh? Come on... that's it... I need you to stay awake ok? Can you do that for me? There's two still to find and we can't sleep now."

At that Starsky's eyes fluttered open—dull and unfocussed. He was determined to stay awake to watch his partner's back. The tourniquet tied, Hutch sat by his buddy for a second and leaned against him, holding him upright, foreheads pressed together. He wiped a hand over his sweating face, grimacing when he realised he was wiping his partner's blood there. He dropped it to rest for a moment gently on his partner's shoulder while Starsky, shivering, tried for the old joke... "H..h..how do I look? huh? Hush? How do I look?" When there was no immediate answer from his partner who was looking around the area for the other flakes, he answered himself "T'riffic I bet. Huh? Hutch I look t'riffic"

After the small laugh of acknowledgment from Hutch, he became more serious, "What we gonna do huh? I can't move much, but I can still fire my gun, if you give it to me..." He stiffened himself, visibly trying to pull himself together and look like he was still in the fight. He did succeed in sitting more upright without support.

"The ugly twins're awful quiet. Do you think maybe they just upped and left by the front …door?" Starsky wasn't aware of how much his voice was fading, running words together, his eyes blinking as he tried to stay alert. But Hutch, a hand still on his trembling shoulder, was all too aware of his weakness. "Starsk. Listen to me. I have to go and check. You need to stay awake. It's really important buddy. Can you stay awakeHuh?" He quickly undid the tourniquet for a moment, immediately sickened by the rapid flow of blood when Starsky had already lost so much.

While he was tying it again he noted the lack of a gasp of pain or any drawing back from his partner, "Hey Starsk?" he raised his voice a little, "You with me here? You gotta stay awake partner. Why don't you think about that quiz a little for me, Huh?" At the small nod from Starsky, he ran two fingers lightly over his buddy's cheek, clicked the safety back off Starsky's gun and put in his right hand. Then he was gone.

…..

Afterwards Hutch could never be sure how exactly he ended on the floor of the kitchen.

He entered the kitchen carefully. His moves textbook-back against the wall, his gun before him sweeping the room. Without Starsky by this side he knew, however, that no matter how text book the moves he would fall short. He caught the movement to his left, and quickly focussed there. He didn't even feel the blow to the right side of his head and could never be sure if he was knocked fully unconscious or just badly dazed. He worked out later, while trying to persuade the doctor that he didn't need to stay overnight for a head injury, that he whole thing didn't last more than two minutes.

He had awoken to the chaos and noise of the backup, to the pain in his head and, with a jolt of fear and guilt, to the awareness of Starsky being alone and down, slumped in a pool of his own blood. He became conscious of the shout to call for an ambulance and of Hank kneeling above him trying to stop him moving. By the time he had made Hank help him up and outside he could see that Starsky being cared for by an officer from a black and white. He was clearly very dazed and agitated as the tourniquet was loosened and reapplied again. The officer, a trained medic, had done a good job. A jacket covered his partner and the medic was trying not to upset him as he held Starsky's groping right hand back from tearing at the knife that was still partly closing off the wound and probably helping to stop him bleeding to death. Shrugging off his own injury he knelt by his partner, one hand stoking his cheek and speaking softly, the other taking over holding Starsky's hand back. He calmed him and gave what aid he could and reassure himself that Starsky, hovering on the edge of shock, would not drift off into unconsciousness before the paramedics arrived.

Deloitte, with his handcuff keys, was gone. The backup had split between a black and white giving chaise to a speeding getaway car and Zebra 8 and a second unit who had raced into the house to aid their comrades in Zebra 3 as soon as they realised what was going down.

That the Ugly Twins hadn't destroyed all the evidence entered into Hutch's foggy consciousness but was no interest at that particular moment. No one was in immediate danger and Starsky was in bad shape. Until he was safe Hutch felt everything else, from his own throbbing head up to and including capturing the murders of the teenagers, could wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Hutch knew from the amount of blood on his jeans alone, that Starsky would need a transfusion.

He hoped that was the worst of it. But a sick feeling in his gut told him things could not be that easy. Hutch feared that the knife, still embedded until the surgeon had finished assessing it, might have done lasting damage. While Hutch, impatiently, submitted to a thorough examination of his head wound, Starsky was being x-rayed.

Hutch's argument with the doctor was short and sharp and involved his warning finger. If the doctor was intimidated he didn't show it. The argument was resolved when Hutch, showing signs of concussion and having been fully unconscious, agreed to stay in the hospital overnight in exchange for access to his partner and a bed in the same room unless Starsky needed a bed in the ICU.

His partner was clearly in pain when he returned from X-ray to the emergency room. Despite being only semi consciousness he was highly agitated. The Tourniquet system was still being used. It has been a good call the doctor had told Hutch as the embedded knife made applying pressure difficult. The surgeon wanted to put Starsky under to remove the knife so the nurses were preparing him for the theatre, adjusting the tourniquet in the meanwhile. Hutch, still a little wobbly and with the headache from hell, was quickly at the side of his partner who was weakly trying to move and muttering about keeping an eye out for the ugly twins. "Hush.. hustch" he groaned his tongue thick, "careful.. two more…"

"Its okay buddy," he spoke softly, "its okay. You're in the hospital remember? No one here to hurt you now" He stroked his partner's cheek as he spoke.

Starsky seemed confused, perhaps thinking he was still back at the house. He was trying to get up, his right hand reaching for the knife. "Hurts... Hutch get it out... Hutsh…" Hutch gently trapped his hand and carefully pushed Starsky back down. "You with me buddy? Hey... Easy... Easy now… Try to stay still. You're in the hospital, remember?" Around him the nurses were buzzing quietly, prepping Starsky who was already calming and moving less.

"Hospital? Wha' happen?" Starsky ignored everything around him and tried to focus on Hutch, his hand now reaching up towards the bandage on the blonds' head, "Hey you... you ok Blondie? You Hurt? How?" he was shivering lightly and grimacing in pain but all his concern was for his best friend. "Yeah dummy, I'm fine. You're the one going into surgery" Hutch ghosted a smile. "They're gonna fix you up in no time. Just relax now buddy I'll be waiting here until you're back"

One nurse noted aloud that Starsky's temperature was a little raised. That provided an explanation for the confusion he displayed about where he was and what was happening but it terrified Hutch as it might mean Starsky was going deeper into shock or developing an infection in the wound.

"What's taking so long?" he snapped loudly. His mouth set in a hard line, "Can't you see this man needs treatment right now?" A tug on his sleeve made him look down again into his partner's eyes, his brows raised and a tiny turning up of his mouth. Nothing needed to be said. Hutch understood at once that he was, again, antagonising the very people his partner needed to help him and his yelling like Dobey was upsetting Starsky. With the slightest nod of his head, he acknowledged his understanding. "Yeah, ok ... ok...sorry, sorry buddy" he spoke soft now. His fingers again feathering over Starsky's cheek. The nurse who had taken his temperature gave Hutch a brief smile as she administered the pre-meds and the orderly began to remove the breaks to wheel Starsky off to theatre.

…..

The wait seemed endless. Hutch was glad of the company that had arrived shortly after Starsky was wheeled away. A couple of detectives from the squad came first on their way off shift and a little later Minnie followed them in; anxious to see how her favourite bit of eye candy was getting on. Dobey had popped in before going into Metro to co-ordinate the hunt for the men who had already killed four teenagers before stabbing one of his finest detectives.

Hug came last. His usual flamboyant ways, quiet and calm. Hutch flashed back to the interrupted call from Huggy just as Deloitte had walked past but the mixture of concussion and fear for Starsky saw the memory fade away again just as fast.

Even in the midst of such friends, the wait was lonely for Hutch. Things were much better than at the stakeout as there was no real danger of Starsky bleeding out now, yet still Hutch feared that his partner might never work the streets with him again if his nerves were damaged and in his worst moments that he might get serious infection or maybe even lose his arm. His head was pounding and he felt dizzy, black spots sometimes appearing at the edges of his vision but he ignored every request to stop pacing and to rest.

His comrades pressed coffee into his hand, made sure he was warm and every now and then a friendly hand rested on his shoulder. He was grateful that no-one offered him meaningless reassurances or tried to engage him in idle conversation. He couldn't deal with any of that right now.

Every cop present understood the deep rooted anxiety of the hour that passed second by agonising second before the doctor appeared, smiling quietly, to reassure Hutch and the assembled comrades that all had gone well. Starsky's fingers and hand worked fine. There was therefore no serious nerve damage. The wound was cleaned, stitched and bandaged and antibiotics administered. It was too early to say what the final outcome would be but so far there were no complications and the knife had been lodged in the fleshy part of the outer arm.

He hadn't finished speaking when Hutch without warning folded, crumbling from the knees, his adrenaline supply simply exhausted.


	3. Chapter 3

The first time Hutch awoke it was to a construction squad playing badly out of tune in his head and a herd of elephants dancing in his guts. Nausea hit hard and it took a few minutes to understand why a blurry blond female shape was leaning over him, gently shaking his shoulder and shining a piercing light into his eyes. It took another moment to calm his head and stomach enough to open his eyes which kept fluttering shut. It took just a minute after this to realise that he was in hospital and what he was doing there.

"Starsky!" he called out, sitting bolt upright. The construction squad and the elephants had some kind of wild party as he bumped into the nurse, but he blinked hard and swallowed the nausia too worried about his partner to give in to them and called again to his partner. He heard a woman mutter something soothing and a gentle pressure on his shoulder to push him back down again. Hutch blinked several times until a pretty blond nurse came more or less clearly into view. "Calm down Ken, David's fine", she soothed, gesturing towards the next bed.

The second time he awoke it was with a loud groan. The blurry shape filling his vision was definitely not female, although the mass of sable curls and long lashes wouldn't have disgraced one of the nurses. "Hey Blintz," said the blur, "about time you woke up". Starsky was lying in the next bed facing him. His arm swathed in bandages.

After a couple of blinks Hutch could see Starsky clearly. He looked pale and there were several drips one carrying blood and the other a clear liquid that was probably anti-biotics. "Yeah well Gordo that stake out quiz was kind of soporific you know?" he bantered before turning serious when he noticed that Starsky was wincing in pain and his voice was soft and raspy.

The third time he woke up, his head was clear and there was just one Dobey clutching chocolates and one Huggy in a lime green suit and an orange shirt that made him want to close his eyes again. Starsky was sleeping. Dobey growled something about not eating all the chocolates at once and growled something more about private parties and backup. Hutch pretended to be still too groggy to understand until Huggy chimed in with get well wishes from Diane and the other bar staff. When Starsky woke up a few minutes later, Dobey growled some more about stupid detectives deserving a spell in traffic before getting down to taking their report and filling them in on how the car chaise had ended.

The car chaise had ended badly with a squad car crashed into the central reservation and the escaped suspects all gone to ground.

Huggy had little to add but did report that he had called them because someone called little Denzil's Cousin Hubert—Cousin Hubert? Starsky mouthed an aside to Hutch who just shrugged—had a line on some bad dudes who were new in town dealing to teenagers. Cousin Hubert wasn't able to report much other than they were involved in getting frustrated rich kids hooked and often ripped them off a few deals in. They were working out of gyms and maybe some café's and bars. But Hubert didn't know where.

They four kicked around the case trying to work up some kind of a lead until the nurse came in to chaise out the visitors and cluck over the handsome detectives.

Hutch was released after 24 hours and was back at work the next day chasing down leads. He worked mostly from the office which was just as well since Dobey insisted on sending him out to interview witnesses or lean on snitches with a fresh faced rookie uniform, called Charles who insisted on calling him sir. Tales of Charles' straight laced interrogation techniques had at least amused a bored, miserable and hungry Starsky when Hutch swung by the hospital at the end of the shift to check on how he was and fill him in on the big nothing that resulted from his attempts to find Deloitte and his cronies.

Following up Cousin Hubert's tip Hutch had checked out other local gyms. Two had lost staff who fitted the bill for the missing suspects and Hutch was running down a list of all the possible kids that might have been using and bought from the missing men in the hope of gathering some more information.

"Hey buddy, Sir, can't you spring me?" Starsky asked as Hutch was preparing to leave. He wriggled his eyebrow hopefully as he spoke. "If the two of us hit the streets together, we'll chaise 'em down. I can't see any of our snitches giving up any information to baby cop can you?" Hutch just smiled as he shook his head and told him that he better hurry up and stop malingering because he couldn't take much more of baby cop calling him Sir.

It was two more days before Starsky was allowed out of the hospital—although still banned from work, even desk duty. He needed regular therapy and couldn't use his dominant left arm at all.

Deloitte seemed to have skipped town. There had been no trace and no drugs deals. Hutch was getting a bit stir crazy and rookie cop was getting no less officious. "He's destined for IA Starsk" he sadly reported after the pair had been to the house Deloitte had rented. Rookie had tried to persuade Hutch that they could not search the whole premises without the original scene of crime officer's permission and a warrant. Hutch finally had to pull rank and his warning finger as he made threats that the current IA wouldn't appreciate at all before he could take away some notebooks he found stuffed behind a chest on the second story.

Starsky, in a lot of pain and not wanting to voice his fears that his gun hand might never work properly again, tried to make the right jokes and to banter about the rookie and IA, But he was so plainly miserable that not even Huggy bearing a Huggy special burger with fries in one hand and a buxom brunette on his other hand could get any spark. Aside from blood loss his injury wasn't so serious but it was still an injury that could end his career and while things looked good and physio was going well nothing was sure yet. His black mood continued until Hutch persuaded Dobey to let him bring some files and copies of financial records to work at home so that he could keep an eye on Starsky and discuss possible leads.

Deloitte had covered his tracks well. Not a single snitch had anything to tell. His bank account remained untouched. Extensive property searches revealed nothing at all. Five days after Starsky had been stabbed and two days after Hutch got back to work, all the boring routine police work had turned nothing up beyond a list of kids who had bought drugs.

Hutch, his frustration held at bay only by his gratitude that his partner was alive and well, went over all of the evidence again with Starsky before turning to the notebooks which appeared to be a list of racing tips and bets with winnings.

Discouraged tho Hutch felt about the case, it was good to see a little sparkle in his partner's indigo eyes as he pondered the entries that appeared to be a record of races and bets but both the detectives knew to be a code. "Lookie here Blondie," he said after half an hour or so in which the two detectives had worked silently on different note books, "I think this is a list of buyers and the dates and either places to meet or amounts he sold to them.. the horses are people, dates are obviously dates and this third line looks like odds but it must be some way of recording meets and amounts. If this one is buyers.. "

"….then mine is a list of sellers and accounts Gordo" Hutch agreed with a fond smile. "Now all we gotta do is match up the horse names with known buyers and dates and maybe amounts and work out what the rest of this crap means. At least we might be able to match some names here to the victims cos we know the dates they were buying. But not tonight buddy.

"Doctor's orders are that you rest and there is a creature feature you can just fit in before bed. So take your pain pill like a good little detective and put that notebook down or I will fetch baby cop to come and charge you with wilful neglect of regulation 24a subsection 3a which says that an officer not on duty must obey the orders of any officer on duty that ranks equal to him.." Starsky's reply was something very rude that didn't appear anywhere in the police regulations, but it was delivered with the first real laugh since the night he was stabbed.


End file.
